The Emerald Eye
by Wellingtonboots
Summary: The dark era shall rise again as the silver serpent flys once more across the skies a seer speaks on the eve of his death. In a world of sinister prophecies, political intrigue and black magic, a young Voldemort finds his chosen path.
1. Prologue

**The Emerald Eye Prologue**

The night was dark and the moon was full. The plants bathed in the silver light seemed supernatural as the wind weaved around the greenery. The star glittered like strange jewels above a sorrowful landscape.

A man, shrouded in dark cloaks lay where they had left him, convulsing in agony. His last vision was nearly complete and his soul was soon to depart.

They stared, forming a ragged circle around the old man, the most famous seer ever before, dying before their very eyes. He was not finished yet; he had yet to spew the contents of his vision in his guttural fashion to all those gather.

Suddenly he jerked upright, old joints creaking in protest. For a second the whole landscape was instantly illuminated by a streak of silver light that shot across the sky like a fiery serpent. Its tall lingered some seconds after the flash and soon the serpent was gone like the smoke of a fire.

"The dark era shall rise again as the silver serpent flies once more across the skies" the prophecy was made and his breath ceased. The scribe hurriedly recorded the rasped words that stilled echoed in the glade.

They covered the body and turned away, the time would come, and patience was a virtue. The predictions of a genuine seer always came true.

The Emerald Eye would see no longer, left in the glade. Like Slytherin before him, the seer knew the heir would come forth with the purest of blood to bring about the next dark era.

The wind rustled once more and the trees groaned. The stars continued to watch the world of men so many centuries later…

**AN: Now read the story**


	2. At the Black Rose

AN: This chapter has been edited but not by very much...don't read if you've already read it. Move onto chapter three, please review thx.

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**At the Black Rose**

The sky darkened somewhat and strange misshapen clouds loomed overhead. The young man pulled his cloak tighter around himself as a strong gust of icy wind whirled through the nearly abandoned street, sweeping up bits of litter in its wake. The weather was so hostile that it would have been easy to mistake the season for winter instead of summer. It had been the coldest day yet of the miserable summer but to Voldemort Salamir Slytherin, the weather was of no consequence.

The young man's sharp facial features served to be both enchanting and somewhat intimidating. The most striking part of his features must have been the fathomless eyes. Those dark orbs never failed to either enthral the observer or terrify him. There was no argument as to the fact he was handsome, very much so, but somehow there was always an underlining sense of mystery and intrigue to all of his varied expressions. His clothes did not mark him as anyone from a particular social background. The black shrouds were worn by everyone from the petty thieves to ministry officials. His clothes, however did act to give him an even more enigmatic presence. He could have been any passer-by hurrying to get home to before the storm broke, but he wasn't………he was Lord Voldemort.

Cassius Malfoy glanced causally out of the grimy window at the Black Rose. His mood was no match for his demeanour. The storm was coming soon and Tom had not shown up. Not that he was concerned about his friend being caught in the rain, any wizard could perform a shield charm and Tom was far more than any wizard. His booked seat at the Black Rose could not be held for too long, there was fierce competition at the main pub in Knockturn Alley. Suffice to say, Tom was one very opportune timer and he knew it. No sooner had his friend stepped across the threshold, then the rain came pelting down with such force that the drops danced on the uneven pavement outside.

"You're late," commented Cassius with a dry sense of humour.

"You're early," was the reply as his guest elegantly slid the cloak from his back and draped it over the back of the elaborately decorated chair, an amused smile played on his lips, "Care to order some drinks?" Cassius laughed out loud but it was lost in the cacophony of sounds present in the bar. His friend had always been able to put anyone at ease.

"Later, we have business to talk about," Cassius's eyes hardened as he made the statement.

"Too sensitive to be discussed over drinks than I presume,"

"Very much so. This idea of yours seems a long way off becoming a reality," He could and needed to be blunt with Tom for he was no match in the charisma depart against his friend.

"All ideas start off this way and blossom too."

"I understand your point of view but how do you propose we start. So far we have gained extensive support from the "major figures" as you put it but only out of curiously and appreciation. You do not have them grounded to the cause."

"They cannot see the true potential yet so we will just have to give them a helping hand. Something to float their boats on."

"You really should elaborate more."

"I save the best cards for last. Now care to order some drinks?"

"Hear me out first. My cousin Ignius Black is holding his annual Mid Summer Serenade. He has expressively invited you, you will get the formal invitation at a later date, but this would be a great opportunity to spread the word and play your cards." The ambitious glint was back in Tom's eyes just like in their school days.

"Yes, Cassius, I would be very much inclined to take the invitation."

"Drinks are served." With that Cassius clapped his hands together and the goblin waiter appeared beside them. "Two goblets of Molten Gold, if you please." The goblin took off with an air of apathy. Tom meanwhile drummed his fingers lazily on the polished tabletop, they were in the better part of the pub. His pose was relaxed and a charming but charismatic smile played on his lips. Cassius was reminded once again of the reason why girls constantly swamped his best friend. He himself was certainly not lacking in looks or charisma but next to Tom his light was just too dim to be noticed. However as fate would have it Tom spent saw this only as a curse and had spend five years of his schooling desperately trying to disband his fan club. Cassius could not see how much damage could be inflicted by a brief fling with a nice looking girl and the ones that swamped Tom were very nice. Never the less Tom avoided fan girls like the plague. He was a firm believer in true love, a surprising trait to possess in Slytherin house but still he yearned for the day the right person would come along for him.

The drinks were served and both men relaxed even more. They chatted on about their school days and quidditch. They seemed almost normal.

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AN: hope you enjoyed that. Next chapter: Voldemort meets some very important people. 


	3. A formal invitation

**Disclaimer:** This short story is written for entertainment purposes and no money has been in any form from this piece of writing. I do not own the Harry Potter Universe but I do own any original developments and characters of my own invention. This disclaimer extends to all chapters and all other pieces of fanfiction written by me

**AN:** On a more lighter note Mid-Summer's day has always been held as an important day in pagan traditions, therefore I think the purebloods must perform something in celebration. Enjoy.

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**Emerald Eye 2**

Voldemort had been waiting for this chance for some time now, he had intended to meet some more of the aristocracy ever since he had returned from Europe. Of course most of them were his school friends but some like the Rookwoods were mere strangers to him.

His main objective in meeting these people was to gain a more central position in the social circles of English pure bloods, essential to his major plan. Currently he was very much on the fringes of the British Dark Arts revolution from spending the past three years in Transylvanian academies. However all this would change by tonight.

The annual Mid Summer Serenade, held at Black Manor, was_ the_ social event of the year. Any reasonable aristocratic family would want to attend but invitations were handed out to promote the ones in favour. Voldemort had been rather surprised to find out that he had been invited but he put it down to Cassius Malfoy's persuasion skills. Of course he had never really socialised with Severus Black, as he was much too old to have been a housemate and his son Ignius black

He pondered for a while as he re-read the formal invitation in his flat at Willingsworth, one of the wizardring suburbs in London. He had found, quite early on, that he could not stand the noise of Diagon Alley and the disorganisation of Knockturn Alley. Besides the rent was cheaper. He had never been a great guest at school balls, the only parties he had ever been to, as he preferred the peace and quite of an inconspicuous corner rather than the dance floor. However this could be his only real chance for some time to penetrate the highest reaches of society. He was already well known on the continent, having spent eleven years travelling through the various countries, stirring up the dark revolution. His ultimate plan on the other hand required him to start in the Britain and therefore pulling the right strings was essential.

The invitation itself was formal enough, "You are hereby invited to attend the Mid-Summer Serenade at the Black Manor." However like most invitations from pureblood families it was exceedingly short as everyone who was worthy of attending knew all the etiquettes. All balls, serenades and masked balls started at six promptly when food was served. Dancing commenced afterwards well into the night, when new couples could "elope" into the garden for more private liaisons. A strict dress code was to be adhered to, mainly dark colours to be worn by the gentlemen and ladies had a choice of a few lighter colours but most chose matching garments to that of their partners. Of course you didn't have to come with a partner, bachelor gentlemen were welcome to add some interest in the party.

Voldemort contemplated wearing black but that would be too rigid and distant. Instead he chose his finest set of green dress robes embodied with silver serpents. It had been a present from the Prophet Isiber who had foreseen the coming of the Heir of Slytherin. Although Voldemort had some doubt as to whether he was a real seer, the man certainly served his purpose.

After dressing he stared at his reflection in the mirror as he always did before the school balls. In front of his stood and extremely tall young man, with a slender frame but a hardness about the shoulders proclaimed his strength. The mouth was handsomely curved and set in a determined position. The eyes of dark green glittered from behind his dark, long lashes. His eyebrows gracefully arched above his eyes giving an air of refinery. His midnight black hair was smooth and sleek but not oily in any sense.

"You look a treat dear, I bet every girl in the vicinity will be rushing after you in no time," Said the mirror

"That's precisely what I don't want," muttered Voldemort He had always had an aversion to fan girls particularly the ones that pointed and giggled in their brainless way. He wanted someone with whom he could hold a remotely intellectual conversation. Someone who loved him for who he was inside. 'Someone who loved a rotten core' his alter ego kicked in accusingly. No he needed someone who loved him and believed in the cause but then, logically then could only love him if they loved the cause.

"You know it's time to go, don't want your princess waiting for her prince do we?" the mirror chide in happily. He now sorely regretted buying a talking mirror as he had no way of shutting it up.

Voldemort felt rather excited now as he prepared to apparate to the destination. There was no need for an address; everyone knew where Black Manor was. It would be rather degrading to put you address on the invitation. There was a faint pop and he disappeared.

A warm summer breeze swept through the meadow filled with an assortment of wild flowers, varied and colourful. They bobbed in the wind as if nodding their approvement for the fine weather. Indeed the weather had got better since his meeting with Cassius in the Black rose. Ahead beyond the meadow stood the imposing eighteenth century manor house. A five-story sandstone building that was geometric in every way. Four planes of symmetry running through the rectangular structure and the symmetry was carefully preserved by placing the correct decorations at every stage. The manor was by no means completely rectangular as the two wings at either end were larger than the rest of the building and more elaborately decorated with white marble statues.

Windows occurred at regular intervals in the stonework. They were white framed and each consisted of thirty two panes of glass arranged geometrically in a rectangle. The glass reflected the still strong sunlight so that they seemed to be glided with gold.

Voldemort shielded his eyes from the light and hastened his step towards the front gate Compared to the building the wall was fairly insignificant. It two was built out of local sandstone but a much rough hue. The gate was meagre for such a house; a small iron gate no taller than seven feet. The bars were painted black more fore protection than decoration. The tips of the bars were blunt and undecorated. Beyond the gate lay half a mile of flagstone path surrounded by a trimmed but unadorned lawn, stretching all around. Small beech trees lined the track at infrequent intervals and the path was kept bare.

On reaching the gate it swung open silently to let him pass. No breeze blew amongst the trees and everything was silent, only Voldemort's footsteps could be heard walking up the path. The front door was fairly inconspicuous in that it was not ornately decorated but it proved to be a good size; it was able to admit seven people at a time. It was made from fine oak, rich in colour and expertly polished. However only one half of the double doors swung open for Voldemort as he stepped in.

What greeted his eyes made him gasp, a gigantic entrance hall three stories high with a huge grey marble fountain in the middle spraying silver coloured water down five levels. Two curved white marble staircases proceeded up to the next floor at the further end of the circular hall. The banisters were silver of a metallic white colour that contained carved figures of mythical creatures. Green carpets partially covered the stairs but left margins at either side for guests to marvel at the marble. Between the two staircases at the highest point hung a huge green banner embroided with the Black family moto "Toujour Pur". Underneath coiled the mascot, a silver serpent with sapphire eyes (AN:This will be explained in more detail in The silver serpent, this stories sequel.).

There was a loud swishing noise and Severus Black appeared dressed in pureblood finery. His sapphire robes glistened with embedded jewels and delicate embroidery,

"I am very glad that you could attend, my friend, the main reception in the gardens, let us go." He held out his hands to Voldemort who took them with ease.

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AN: Sorry nothing much happened in this chapter but the next chapter will be more exciting. 

**_Please Review_**... **_Puppy Dog Eyes_**


	4. The Garden Party

AN: Sorry only a change not an update. I have made some minor adjustments to the plot

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**The Garden Party **

The garden was one of the most splendid of its kind in Britain but of course the Black Family would not settle for anything less than perfection. Live oak fairy lanterns flattered about sprinkling luminous fairy dust like confetti over the grand tables laden with exotic dishes and rare delicacies.

Milling in the great asymmetric courtyard and fountains were around two hundred guests from the leading pureblood society. However the centre of attention, as always, was on the Black Family. Ignius Black, like the perfect host, casually strolled between social groups, making comments on nearly every topic he came across. His brother, Severus, on the other hand carefully grounded himself with several other enthusiastic young men around the drinks table.

Tom surveyed his surroundings with a casual glance, which served to obtain all pieces of relevant information. Before he could join in the party he needed to be introduced, most preferably by Ignius Black. He promenaded to the other side of the courtyard to where Ignius Black was discussing history with a wizened old man. He smiled nonchalantly in their direction and Severus nodding his head in greeting.

"Ah, Voldemort, welcome. This is Voldemort Salamir." There was a sharp in drawn breath from the old man and several of his stiff white hair flopped to one side. Tom watched with hidden amusement and a small amount of irritation, he did not want to be introduced to someone with one foot already in their grave.

His name often caused people some surprise, as the last heir of the line of Salamir; he was very welcome in high social circles. Salamir, he savoured the name, like the juice of the nether-berries it so useful and yet so lethal. As one of four bloodlines of Slytherin, Salamir was extremely fear and revered by all pure blood families. Although the house of Salamir did not have the same fearsome reputation as the Slazarmirs it was renowned for the many scholars and seers the line had turned out. The actual family name of Slytherin, ironically, was celebrated for its contribution to the ministry having churned out more ministers of magic than any other family. Last and very much least, the Sindar family line had lost nearly everything during the Goblin revolutions. Their greed, Tom thought with contempt, had proved to be their downfall.

The wizen old man was now carefully removing something from his breast pocket and Tom watched with detached amusement as his joints creaked. _Really, the old man was probably over 200 by now and most likely going senile. Like Dumbledore. _His eyes unconsciously narrowed but his features were schooled once more as the large grey eyes turned to meet his.

"Mr Salamir, I am so glad to have finally met you," a frail, wrinkled hand dotted with brown specks was forced under his nose. Tom took it and held it lightly as to do any unintentional damage. The sense of respect for the elderly from his childhood had not completely faded, yet.

"This is Mr Hartwright, chief librarian at the Scholaric Library," Ignius politely extended his hand towards Hartwright and slipped smoothly away.

"Mr Salamir, I know that we have not become very acquainted yet but there is something of the up most importance I have to tell you," Tom decided to humour the old man for know, after all the Scholaric Librarians were world famous for their knowledge on the history of magic. _Not that I had ever been interested in that particular area. Such boredom for which I can only blame Binns for. The subject under a competent teacher might have aroused some curiosity._ Hartwright was now smiling dimly up at him and holding out some parchment in the other trembling hand.

"I would be very grateful if you did Mr Hartwright, your wisdom is much sought after," just the correct amount of respect and politeness was injected into the business like tone. Tom smiled that the apparent effect he had on the man in question. Mr Hartwright seemed equally eager to get rid of whatever was in his hand as he was to meet Tom.

"Well, I'll get straight to the point than young man," Hartwright paused as if trying to decide what to say first. Tom continued the faint smile playing on his lips and the innocently curious expression. "Some time ago, oh it was perhaps a month before the Lamas-tide in April, I was delving into some new material we had just received from the Scottish Archives and I came across a most astounding prophecy perhaps even the find of the century."

Tom blinked in surprise, he had thought Hartwright was going to blabber on about his family line and perhaps divulge some useless yet interesting information on one of his obscure relatives. _But this is so much more interesting, even if I am not a firm believer in prophecies. The old fool seemed to think they might be awfully important; perhaps he was right. _

"Was it an ancient prophecy, Mr Hartwright, if so it must be extremely valuable,"

"Oh, it was old, not ancient as it were but old. Now the curious thing was that it was recorded as the last Prophecy of the Emerald Eye. You know who that is don't you?" the expectant note in Hartwright's voice nearly choked him.

"Yes, the famous Caledonian seer who was said to be the first genuine impenditurary." He had read that line in a divination textbook he had casually picked up in first year. Apart from the enlightening first line he did not know anything else about this so-called "famous impenditurary".

"Well, he was not just an impenditurary seer, you know. He mostly had visions of the future but occasionally he would have several visions of the past too. These books now a days seem to eliminate details," Hartwright looked set to rant, which Tom decided would not do wonders for the old man's already unstable physical condition.

"Yes, of course but I suppose all this is besides the point. This last prophecy you speak of, is it truly authentic. A primary source if you will?"

"What? No, unfortunately it was a copy made around three hundred years after his death in the twelfth century. I have reason to believe however that the writer most likely recorded it from a first hand witness of the prophecy. Or, more excitingly, there might actually be a recording, in text of course, of the original prophecy and the writer divulged his account from that, which would mean the copy is more accurate than anybody dares to think." His voice rose half an octave higher with excitement.

"So you are saying that there might be an actual physical copy of the original prophecy taken down on site?"

"Oh no, Mr Salamir, there was once an original copy, no doubt, but over a millennia of sorting and resorting records there is next to no chance that such a frail document would survive. Of course the last prophecy itself was never really publicized due to his death and the text actually concedes that Emerald Eye did not what his vision to get out of his coffin as it were.

'Well, the recording was most likely stored away in the nearest archive, which was in Crougren. Now this archive ceased to exist sometime in the late eleventh century when the giants raided the area. My theory is that most of the scriptures were transferred to Lundonae further south and new copies, well versions, were made based on the old scripture. I have actually found several records of this happening to many other texts from Crougren. The old texts I presume were disposed of as was the practise in those days," Hartwright pause as if to mourn the loss of such great pieces of historical knowledge.

"You mean to say that there is no way of proving whether the account is actually genuine?" The old curiosity well up inside of him, making Tom leave his most pressing question until later.

"Actually, I intent to acquire a list of all the documents moved from Crougren to Lundonae before the winter sets in," the statement had not hint of exaggeration in it and Tom was forced to reconsider his first impressions the wizen old man. "I have my ways, Mr Salamir. However what does this have to do with you?"

'Well, Mr Salamir, the prophecy, according to the account was about your family," Tom smiled cordially, of course why else would he be approached. Had Black known this all the time?

"I am most amazed at this revelation and honoured that you decided to share this with me,"

"Mr Salamir, I do wish for you to come visit the Library so you can read the actual prophecy. I have written the address and password to the archives on this parchment." At this Hartwright pressed the trembling piece of paper into Tom's hand and stood back to smile with triumph.

_So, you have something to hide from these prying eyes. I see no reason not to visit you._

"Of course, Mr Hartwright, as I said I feel privileged to be bestowed such an honour. Farewell and do enjoy the party," Tom carefully pocketed the parchment. Mr Hartwright nodded and departed for the food tables with surprising speed for such a frail man.

"So, I see the revelations have had some impact, Voldemort," Ignius was back again breathing down his neck. Tom smiled cordially,

"I suppose they have. Was that your main intention to invite me to this party?"

"Oh definitely not, I simply aspire for your personal company" _never quite lost your humour, Ignius_. "Although there may just be one more person you need to meet, in person,"

"Only one more? Ignius, I was hoping to be introduced to more than two people," the light joking tone drew an atmosphere of near friendship.

"What for? Everyone knows who you are anyway. I have had to keep the ladies from suffocating you during your delightful conversation. No doubt you realised, considering how long you took," they had now reached the second highest level of the terraced garden.

"I assure you my intentions were not malicious in anyway,"

"I suppose I can forgive you for the slight,"

"I would not have desired your forgiveness anyway," they had now reached the top most terrace, which seemed to be the centre of activity.

"Well, then I shall not introduce you to the object of your future affections,"

"So, you wish me to meet my fiancée, Ignius. Why I would be delighted," the faintly sarcastic tone did not mask in genuine excitement, this was of course the highlight of the party and precisely why he was invited.

Many well to do young ladies from the best families were congregated near the giant glass doors charmed to act like mirrors. He recognised several members of the leading families including Crassanda Malfoy and Livia Black. Cassius waved in greeting and beckon for the pair to take a drink with him.

"Cassius, fine taste as always and how is my darling little sister, Melissa?" at this Ignius turned to a beautiful woman dressed in ivory coloured robes. Her dark hair, characteristic of the Black family, was held up in an elaborate bun by several complicated pieces of diamond jewellery. She smiled warmly at Tom and unconsciously readjusted one of the black pearls dangling from her ears.

"Good afternoon, Voldemort, I'm very glad to finally meet you. Cassius has told me so much about you." She extended her hand, Tom took it and bowed, "Oh, Ignius, I was trying to find you before, Severus said you were down by the fountains so I didn't look for you," she smiled at her brother and allowed him to kiss her hand while Cassius pretended to be outraged,

"Once you decided to let go of my _wife_, perhaps you would like to take a drink with me?"

"Oh don't mind Cassius," Melissa erupted into a little fit of dignified giggles, "he hasn't stopped saying that after the wedding. Oh and here comes Paulinus. Why, if Livia and Severus join us, we could have a nice little family reunion."

Tom turned once again to see the figure of Paulinus Black, the second son and fourth child. Physically he had much to be desired, stout and shorter than his other present siblings, his limbs seemed disproportioned and gave him a sort of ambling walk. Up close, his face was clean-shaven and the rough, greasy texture of his skin was all too apparent. Small pockmarks were just visible under his chin when he tilted it to the side. His eyes were as black as Melissa's pearls but held none of the glamorous beauty. Shuffling slightly, he eyed Tom,

"Voldemort Salamir, I am very pleased to meet you again. I trust you have been well," the voice was low and the words churned out slowly suggesting some denseness of mind but Tom knew better.

"And you too Paulinus," Tom nodded seriously and shook his hand. While Paulinus was intelligent, he was certainly lacking in the charisma department.

"Severus are Livia are coming with Rovera Slytherin, she said she wanted someone to meet you," with his message delivered he stepped aside courteously for the entrance of the third son and youngest child, Severus.

Surprisingly, Tom noted, all of the remaining rations of talent left after three children, Ignius, Melissa and Livia, promptly skipped Paulinus and landed on Severus. He was no doubt the most talented son of a talented family. Severus Black, the most eligible bachelor today (although Cassius seemed to think it was Tom).

While Ignius would be described as charmingly handsome, Severus could steal the limelight in seconds just by appearing. His charismatic talents could charm a viper into submission, but his greatest talent must have been his intelligent mind. It would be nearly impossible to find a more cunning and resourceful man, save of course for Tom. Many, including Cassius, believed that Severus would make a better Head of the Household than his other brothers. Ignius, gifted though he was, simply could not compare to such a specimen of pureblood perfection.

Predictably Severus had a girl on his arm…and another one by his side. Upon closer inspection she was his elder sister Livia. Livia, very much like Ignius in physical appearance, seemed to have a stronger attachment to her youngest brother than the other two.

"Why, we are going to have a family reunion," with that both Melissa and Livia burst out laughing, though Livia was more reserved. She seemed very timid only uttering a quite greeting before withdrawing next to Paulinus, but not before making sure that Severus followed her, which he seemed very happy in doing.

"This, is Rovera Slytherin, a relative of yours I believe, Voldemort," Severus indicated to the girl on his arm. Unlike Melissa and Livia, she did not have the same warm, open expressions. Rather, she face was contorted into a permanently serious look. Although, not unpleasant, Tom wondered why Severus chose Rovera of all people.

"Yes, Rovera, I have heard of you. It is good to finally meet a relative," Tom took her hand and bowed. For a moment the serious expression faded and she looked almost as if she was going to simper.

"You know, the Blacks do claim heritage from Salazar too," said Severus lightly and Tom smiled,

"No doubt, you are fine people," Before any more bantering could occur, Ignius took charge, with some resistance as most eyes were trained on the too most breath taking wizards in the vicinity.

"Voldemort, I said there was someone I would like you to meet. This is Evanlyna Slytherin,"

Tom turned to find his fiancée sauntering up the steps.

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AN: **_Please review so I can have some feedback… PUPPY DOG EYES _**

Go on pressed the little button…


	5. The Department of Intelligence and Espio...

AN: _**Thank you to parselmouth, whitewolf, olivetree, henriette, sanzo and someone for reviewing**_.

Feedback is very important for me, as I need to know your opinions on the work and points of improvement.

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**The Department of Intelligence and Espionage**

She was a pretty, in a distinctly childish manner, with thick bouncing black curls that danced when she walked. Her pale complexion was commonly linked with artificial assistance but Tom felt assured that it was wholesomely natural.

Nothing about Evanlyna seemed mature. From her mischievous expression to her slender frame and her underdeveloped figure, she practically radiated childish whims. Tom was faintly amused when he found himself linking her to Peter Pan, the muggle who refused to grow up. However it was slightly judgemental of him to assume her intelligence was not yet mature.

Like the perfect gentleman, Tom extended bowed and took the outstretched hand. There was a faint fit of giggles and he rose to see Evanlyna half covering her face in attempt to retain her dignity. Less surprisingly, Rovera was openly glaring at her sister with unveiled disapproval.

"Oh, Voldemort, I'm so glad to finally meet you in person. My family have told me so much about you," she curtseyed in a manner customary to young girls and Tom could not help but to be faintly amused.

Marriages were often arranged in the pureblood society. Like the Roman aristocracy, marriage was considered to be a useful tool in securing alliances in both business and politics. The women like their predecessors would be given little choice in the matter even if they had aspired for any. While the rest of the wizardring world was considerably ahead of muggles in their attitudes towards sexual equality, the pureblood conservatives retained the traditional ways.

Tom's engagement had been arrange by himself, no less, some months ago during the Malfoy's Ball, which had been considered the social event of the year. He had not met Evanlyna then, as it was uncustomary to meet one's bride beforehand, but he had a faint feeling the youngest and most pampered daughter of the Slytherin family would no doubt be a little immature. His slight misgivings did not prevent the reunion taking place; he needed to ally himself with at least one of the Slytherin families, his own name alone would not get him far enough.

Now he saw her in person for the first time, he decided she resembled his mother in her physical appearance but, even though he had never known his mother, Tom was quite sure she would have been more composed. Strangely enough his previous assumption that her personality would likely annoy him was proved quite wrong. Tom felt torn between amusement and a faint sense of disapproval. There was, of course desire thrown into the mix. Evanlyna was a beautiful, well-groomed girl and her immaturity caused her to become even more desirable.

"Evanlyna Slytherin, It is my pleasure to finally meet my future bride. I must say, you look so much more beautiful in person," Tom stretched out his hand and courteously led her towards the refreshment table. "May I offer you a drink, Evanlyna?" She continued to giggle in her girlishly high-pitched voice and only nodded.

Rovera discreetly rolled her eyes and firmly led the still fanaticised Severus Black towards the lower levels, hoping to escape her sister. Ignius melted once again into another social group and was now actively engaged in a heated debate over the recent quidditch world cup. Livia and Melissa presently left with Paulinus in toll, leaving Tom alone with his bride-to-be.

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"Oh, this party has turned out to be quite enjoyable, hasn't it?" said Evanlyna as she stood on the upper level of the grand terrace and stood gazing at the sunset in the west. Her face was illuminated by the orange glow and somehow it made her features mature. She turned and gazed fixatedly at Tom as if she was thinking deeply, perhaps she was. "How you ever wondered whether there was perhaps more to life?". The question nearly took Tom by surprise; his fiancée had calmed down after she had become accustomed to his presence but ultimate questions were hardly after dinner conversation.

"There are causes worth fighting for in our lives, even if our attempts seem futile to spectators. After all life is not a spectator sport." Tom rubbed his chin in a deliberate manner and stared into her dark eyes.

"What is your cause?" her voice was barely above a whisper and her earrings jangled as she turned sharply to face the sunset once more.

"My cause is to further the interest of the magical kind,"

"I suppose it is a cause worth pursuing." She shook her head and the light danced on her ornamental dressings. "It is worthless to talk about this now, the future has been decided and we must face the consequences the best we can."

"I believe the future will be beneficial to both of us, Evanlyna. You will not regret your decision."

"I have visions. It was not my decision and remember this, it will never be my decision but I relent, the future will be beneficial for both of us," her words were spoken with an abrupt decisiveness but her eyes were filled with concern as they gazed at Tom.

"What do you see, Evanlyna," he asked he drew near to her and clasped her hands together. He needed to know the source of her concern. He needed to know of her vision.

"I see a brilliant wizard, capable of many things. I see a husband and a father to my children. I see an ambitious politician, I see too many other things…" she broke off uncertainly and Tom knew from her expression what else she had seen.

They broke away and each went a separate way back to the ballroom to dance.

* * *

Tom carefully checked his crystal timer; he had a strong habit of punctuality. The grandfather clock inside the Ministry's Atrium struck one with a deep rich sound that reverberated around cavernous hall that was utterly devoided of life. The start of the afternoon saw both wizard and muggle society settled into a studious pattern of work. It was also the opportune time for inquiries as most officials were now feeling fairly contented after their large sized luncheons.

Tom had come for the sole purpose of determining his contract with the Department of Law Enforcement.

"Voldemort Salamir, it is a pleasure to meet you," the stern face of the wizard who had appeared two feet to his right seemed to contradict the statement.

"It is also a pleasure to meet you, Odysseus Rookwood." Tom acknowledged him with a nod.

"My office would be the best place to continue our discussion". Rookwood march down a brightly lit corridor without hesitation and Tom followed.

The office was situated near the end of the corridor quite near the atrium. Tom briefly wondered why such an important official was granted an office in the most inconvenient of places. The plaque on the door was polished to the point that an immaculate reflection of himself could be seen behind the craved letters that spelt: "O. P. Rookwood. Head of the Department of Intelligence and Espionage". The plaque clearly did not belong there and Tom realised that Rookwood had simply transferred his plaque onto a spare room. In interior was bare and as large as the average broom cupboard. There was no carpet or any other non-essential component of office life. The desk was made of chipboard covered in a wooden pattern and the chairs padded with coarse woven material that screamed public property. Rookwood clearly did not think enough of him to allow Tom any access to his papers.

"These are the necessary papers Mr Salamir. No doubt you already know all the terms of the contract so please sign here," Rookwood flipped through the booklet and pointed to a dotted line squeezed onto the bottom of the last page. Tom could hardly fit his signature in. "You will receive your assignment shortly by post. I suggest the you do not show it to anyone you like…" Rookwood paused dramatically and sneered, " the consequences are dire." Tom refrained from rolling his eyes at the antics of his superior; the weak man's thirst for blood was so much greater than that of a strong man.

"Thank you for your time Mr Rookwood. I appreciate your efforts. I shall be sure to inform you of my situation at the appropriate time." Tom turned to leave but was caught by the sullen voice,

"You're playing with the big boys now…I suggest you hurry up and learn that," Tom sneered without turning around,

"You should take your own advice Rookwood." Tom was gone before he could hear a reply.

The sun was shining outside when Tom exited the building. The ministry of magic always depressed him with its regulations. The irregular hustle bustle of the crowds in Diagon Alley served to revive his spirit. It was nearing the end of July and the numbers of shoppers had steadily increases in response to the coming school year. Mixed memories of his own school days floated past his mind but the lure of Florish and Botts was too tempting and he proceeded to push the memories to the back of his brain as he browsed through the various sections for any books that he might want to buy.

His new job bought to mind that he would need some special materials for the job. Rookwood had not seen fit to provide him with any, but, her reminded himself, he was not technically an employee of the ministry of magic. He was more of a freelance mercenary. However the equipment he need could only be obtained at Knocturn Alley.

Knocturn Alley was a frequent meeting place for the dark side of the wizardring world and Tom enjoyed the atmosphere of dark magic that hung over the alley like a vapour. The resident shopkeepers were all hardened men who had witnessed enough between them to incriminate most of the pureblood population. Not that they would ever go to the most hated of civil forces, the Aurors. The said organisation was considered a rude world in this part of London and besides no one survived in Knocturn Alley without a little hobby on the side so it was not economically sound to incriminate anyone else. The shops that lined the main alley consisted of the dark versions of all the shops found in Diagon Alley, from Quiggly's Quidditch to Borgins and Burkes anyone could purchase anything provided they had the correct amount of money. Currently Tom was headed for one of his favourite shops in a secluded alleyway branching off the main street.

Maynard's was a small shop even by Knocturn Alley standards. Measuring seven foot by thirteen it had a small front and an even smaller interior. Having so little room all merchandise was crammed magically onto the three sets of shelves inside the tiny shop. The front windows were grimy with dirt but seasoned customers knew it was in fact a one-way mirror from which the non-existent owner could monitor the activities outside the shop. The most interesting thing about Maynards was not its merchandise, displays or doggy windows but the conspicuous lack of staff. The shop was unmanned; one simply chose the appropriate item and left the correct amount of money on the counter. No one in recent memory had been stupid enough to try and rob the shop, however not so exaggerated tales circulated amongst the traders about the consequences of such actions.

Tom was not about to rob Maynard's, for one he really did like the shop and two he had enough gold to last him a lifetime living luxury. The door swung open of its own accord as Tom approached. The scent of burning incense mixed with the musty smell of old parchment wafted out to greet his nose. The inside was as he had always remembered it dark, rank and filled with dust. The merchandise, for there was no other word that could collectively describe the things on offer, was still stacked neatly on the shelves. New labels though had been added to a few of the ledges meaning what ever managed the shop had finally decided to stop shifting things around to make room for more stuff. Tom walked briskly over to a shelf marked "Magical Items" and pulled out a small wooden box. He had been intending to purchase it for sometime now but he had never gotten around to it. However in his new job, invisibility pendants were a necessity.

He took it to the front counter where nearly the entire surface was filled with rotating stands displaying all manners of potions ingredients most of which were illegal. A small square of open space directly in the middle of the counter was covered with multicoloured stains. There was small tin in the corner, partially concealed by some dried leaves dangling from the stand near by. A torn and equally stained label inside the tin announced in small cursive writing that all payments must be placed inside the tin. Tom pulled out a small bag of coins from his pocket; the price was left to the buyer's discretion…well almost. Once the gold had been tipped into the tin blue sparks shot from the sides illuminating the counter; the owner was satisfied with the price and he was allowed to leave.

Tom's next destination would have been the Black Rose but first he needed to go home and open his mail. With some luck his assignment would have arrived.

AN: Next chapter the assignment...

* * *

_henriette:_ thank you for your encouragement

_Sanzo:_ hope you liked the new chapter

_Parselmouth:_ It's Just a Nightmare has been updated…but you probably know that already

_Whitewolf:_ thanks for the comments, changed the ending to chapter 4 definitely too cheesy. Any way enjoy.

_Olivetree:_ Rachel your bugging was pitiful, but I suppose it worked.


	6. Milo Carrion

AN: Thx for the reviews. Please keep reviewing as feedback is vital for the progression and improvement of the writing.

Sorry for not updating for so long, the Manipulator has been eating away at my spare time.

* * *

**Milo Carrion**

It was dark by the time the post arrived. Tom would have preferred to be at the Black Rose catching up with news from some of his more shady acquaintances. However the assignment came first.

The barn owl was positively regal in its posture and demanded an inflated delivery rate. When it had finally accepted what it deemed a suitable salary it took off hooting indignantly into the night and Tom was left in peace to read the letter in his office. The letter was incredulous enough, plain yellow parchment with the official seal of the department of intelligence and espionage in red wax. The cursive script was too regular to be hand written but the signature at the bottom was real. The letter was short and concise,

"_We have received reports of an increase in dark activities. The focal point has been identified as a dark movement led by MILO CARRION. The subject has no previous convictions, or conjunctions. Reports state, however, that the subject has familial links to numerous people previously convicted but not charged with practise of the dark arts. _

_Members of the revolutionary group have yet to be identified but considering the extent of the subject's connections they will be from varied backgrounds. The movement's security is still in low levels due to the need for recruitment. _

_Assignment: gather further background information on the dark movement. Infiltrate the movement and gain information first hand regarding the aims and methods of the party._

_Report: Written_

Deadline: None" 

Tom carefully folded the letter and placed it in his safe deposit box for future reference.

Milo Carrion, he had heard that name several times before from the severely drunk at the Black Rose. Under the influence of alcohol most patrons at the bar had rather interesting things to tell about the revolutionist. His mother apparently was a pureblood witch who married beneath her for a reason Tom had yet to decipher from the drink-induced babble. His father, Carrion, had been simply a small merchant until his marriage but using his wife's money he had managed to elevate himself through the business circles. Upon his death Milo Carrion was left with a considerable fortune and had decided to implement some of his mother's more radical ideas. The movement had been steadily gaining momentum since the beginning of last year and now it seemed the organisation had grown considerable big enough for the ministry to start taking an interest.

The department of Intelligence and Espionage had the sole purpose of obtaining information. No actions were taken by the department to remedy situations, it existed as an observer to watch but not speak. Useful and relevant information would be passed onto the department of Law Enforcement if deemed necessary, but considering it was Rookwood who made the decisions, very little information ever filtered through. The public was often blissfully unaware of the reports that were filed inside the department's main office.

Tom hastily pulled some money into his pocket; with the help of a few rounds the patrons of the Black Rose would be able to tell him more than he would ever want to know about Milo Carrion.

The Black Rose was experiencing a slump in trade tonight. Small cobbled floor space between the door and the front bar was conspicuously empty. The habitual drinkers were still there though, attempting to drown themselves in cheap alcohol. There were seven of the so-called "regulars" sitting in front the bar in various states of incoherency, one Tom recognised as Darius who was his usual source of information. A quick survey of the rest of the pub revealed several crossbred goblins lurking in the furthest table muttering darkly to each other and a veiled hag sitting in full view under the torches apparently doing nothing. It was too quiet right now to do anything reductive so Tom dutifully ordered a pitcher of Ice Wind with two glasses and settled down to wait for the midnight surge.

The midnight surge did not occur, as most people would think, at midnight. Instead the casual traders packed up for the night around ten in the evening and they along with their customers congregated in the pubs for a relaxing drink… in theory. Usually the surge in customers meant duels, brawls and broken furniture. The Black Rose had long since stopped putting unbreakable charms on their furniture and windows as it simply served to agitate potentially lethal and discontented customers. Business would taper off by two in the morning when most patrons would have become incoherent with drink and they would wander out in twos and threes throwing random coins on the counter to pay for their drinks. Usually they paid more than they should but the barman kept all the supposed tips.

Currently it was ten past nine by the large brass clock hanging on the wall and the barman, Serge, was wiping the stained and dirty bar top with an even dirtier looking cloth.

"Bad business tonight?" asked Tom in the way of conversation. Serge looked up and shrugged in an apathetic manner. His muscular shoulders strained through the fabric of his dark robes.

"Quieter than usual, you're the first toff I've seen these few days. What happened hey? All out attending yer parties these days?" Serge inquired and then resumed wiping several glasses with his cloth.

"Well there was the Mid Summer Serenade…but it's over now," Tom said as he poured himself a glass of Ice Wind, a special cocktail consisting mostly of plant extracts that numbed the tongue and prevented the taste buds sensing anything but the taste of alcohol.

"Yeah…big event for you toffs. Weren't born into riches, me…no silver spoons for me 'n' my brothers. Had to scrape up a living down 'ere 'n' with the damn ministry nosing around…can't get more work than this. I got a family to feed yer know, three kids and me old man. He's on medication 'n' that darn't come cheap…" Serge's rant came to faltering halt as he stared out of the bar window with apprehension.

"What is it?" asked Tom nonchalantly; it was probably a forbidden patron walking past the window. As Serge continued to crane his neck in hopes of getting a better view, Tom paused to study him. Serge was well built as was expected of most bar tenders. Dark, intelligent and deep-set eyes peered out from under the heavy ridge so that it seemed his eyes were permanently in shadow. Personality wise Serge was fairly trust-worthy. Without any interests to look out for he functioned quite simply and the spurt of self-pity was probably induced by real emotions.

"Ah, it's nothing. I thought for a sec that the Aurours were at the door," muttered Serge.

"Aurours? Why would they come here?" inquired Tom now mildly interested. The officials feared Knockturn Alley and not even the bravest ever dared to venture so deep into the heart of Dark Magic.

"There've been raids, like…all on our patrons. I reckon that the ministry have got it in for our kind. Run by mudbloods it is, mudbloods and halfbloods, jealous of our kind. They want to wipe out our way of life, starting with people like me. It's alright for you toffs." for a moment Serge's voice became almost reproachful but then it calmed, "You've got your lands and money but we're oppressed by the government, pushed in dark corners like this," he waved his hands to emphasize his predicament. "We can't get decent jobs anywhere else 'course the ministry check yer background and if yer pureblood they stamp you unemployable!"

"The ministry cannot employ such blatant favouritism." Stated Tom. He himself had faced prejudice throughout his life, first for being an orphan and then for being a Slytherin but the discrimination had been subtle not outright.

"You don't know, they work behind the scenes 'n' that recent legislation making sure that anyone with a previous criminal records can't get more than the minimum wage. They're out to get us, the mudbloods and the muggles too. The ministry culling and sterilising all those animals just 'course the darn muggles can't handle seeing them. Its getting worse yer know…with Carrion running round. Not that I mind his ideals but he's got to do more than talk…yer known take action. If he took actions I'd join him, I'd join anyone."

"Surely he does more than talk," said Tom sceptically.

"He does this and that but mostly he just hold meetings. Too scared of the ministry he is, coward but popular with the middle classes," replied Serge. He was now busying himself with arranging the display of illegal alcoholic drinks on offer.

The Black Rose not only served what other people termed "normal" customers but also a diverse range of species, all of which would be considered highly dangerous by the ministry. The drinks therefore needed a little extra spice in them to please the more exotic patrons. Most contained substances that would kill any wizard within the hour and some even continued extracts of human. Tom could only guess as to where the manufactures obtained the necessary ingredients.

The midnight surge was nearly upon them by the time Tom had finished his cocktail and Serge had finished gearing the pub up for the influx of customers. Their conversation warmed up as Serge stacked a toppling pile of plates near to the wine rack,

"I reckon they'll be 'ere in a couple o' seconds now. Anyone yer meetin' tonight, a lady friend perhaps?" asked Serge as the indistinct sound of a large crowd drew nearer.

"I'm engaged now Serge, no more fun around town," laughed Tom as he held out his pitcher for a refill.

"Ah, there's still time left, aye but yer know there ain't no pleasure out there than to have a happy marriage. It's a man's greatest treasure…" the sound of Serge's voice was drowned by the door opening with a bang that shook the window panes and a hundred voices all clambering for attention. Tom sipped his glass of ice wind and patiently waited for the commotion to die down.

It was twenty past nine before all the customers were happily settled and Serge only had to handle the regular requests from hard nose drinkers. The pub was now full to the brink with creatures of all kinds. A suspicious looking half vampire was peering at the empty glass beside Tom's pitcher.

"So yer wanna here about Milo Carrion?" Serge asked in a slightly hushed voice. Tom mentally jumped in surprise; had Serge guessed his intention so quickly? However the question, Tom realised, was not directed at him but at the vampire sitting next to him.

"And what would you know?" it countered in a high pitched, wheezy voice.

"Yer tend to hear things here. I talk to all kinds, toffs," at this the vampire turned his attention back to Tom, "criminals, taxmen…"

"Yes alright but what of Sir so and so over there," it lifted a gnarled leathery hand in gesture towards Tom.

"I'm sure what ever you have to say will not disturb me in the slightest," countered Tom, this could be his chance to gain some real information.

"Tom here leads a double life. Posh parties one minute 'n' then down here the next. We all know Tom here, no need to be so cautious," said Serge as he turned his head to check that the group of crossbred goblins were not about to start a fight with a green skinned humanoid. The vampire snarled next to him but evidently gave in. Serge turned around and became absorbed in his narrative.

"It was a few years ago when I first heard his name. Never struck me as anyone important at first, 'cept he seemed a magnet to the discontented. I dunno, first I heard of him he were just another upstart to most people many never quite believed he would amount to much. He gained popularity though, quickly too,"

"He mustn't be all that popular I ain't never heard of him 'til now," growled the vampire clasping his empty hands together.

"Yeah well, I'm coming to that. Milo was bought up a proper guy, yer know what I mean. Mother was rich, old money sort and real snobby lady from what I gathered but she had the right idea. His father, now there was a cunning man if I ever saw one. Somehow he got Atica Montague to marry him, dunno how but some say she had a "sweet on the side" with old Carrion and ended up marrin' him out of shame," Serge paused to rub his chin thoughtfully,

'Then old Carrion started his own business with some of his wife's money. Smart businessman he was made several thousand in the first year of opening his historic artefacts shop. Hell, he was even selling copies of old prophecies but I reckon it was all a hoax. After all who would be believe he had the genuine script of the Emerald Eye!"

Tom's ears immediately peaked up in concentration,

"What exactly is this prophecy?" he asked. Serge shook his head and laughed,

"Some guy suddenly came up with this old piece of fake parchment about how the Emerald eye made his final prophecy. O' course we all know that no one heard the final prophecy o' the Emerald Eye cos' there was none. Nah, all a load o' rubbish from where I stand."

"But really what does it say?" persisted Tom. Serge shrugged apathetically,

"Old Carrion says the seer prophesised the Dark Messiah will come by at the end of this century and bring about a gold age of old wizard kind 'n' all that. Funny thing is though, Carrion never claimed to be the Messiah. Weird that, I would o' thought a power hungry guy like him would make the most of what he's got. Anyways Old Carrion reckons that he's laying the foundation for the said Messiah." Serge broke off his monologue to fill up a patron's drink and then returned to his attentive audience.

The vampire had taken Tom's question session as an opportunity to fill up the empty glass by the pitcher with Ice Wind and was now happily slurping away. Tom gave him an exasperated look and proceeded to order a glass of Caucasian Delights.

"I reckon," growled the half vampire as he put the empty glass down, " that Old Carrion knows more than he lets on about this prophecy of his." Serge gave the vampire the best patronizing look he could muster and said,

"Really, all these damn men always have more up there sleeves than on their faces." Tom raised an elegantly arched eyebrow at Serge's unorthodox sayings.

"Seriously, Serge, our friend here may have a point," said Tom gesturing to the vampire for emphasis.

"The name's Liebechnekt, Polish immigrant," supplied the vampire as he poured himself another glass, "my mother moved here from Ireland and my father was a polish vampire. Met in a pub and left to marry in Poland, that was before all these ministry decrees came about." The alcohol seemed to loosen up the vampire more than it should and his brief account of family history was more than interesting.

"Carrion intrigues me, I would rather like to meet him myself," said Tom addressing Liebechnekt. He snorted with amusement,

"What you wanting to do, toff, sponsor him. Wouldn't do your respectability any good you know. They say the ruling families won't stoop as low as acknowledge that Carrion even exists."

"Rumours are often blow into disproportion. The ruling classes may not accept Carrion as one of their own but they do not shun him to that extent. In fact some have expresses their sympathies for his cause," stated Tom causing Liebechnekt to growl in disapproval. However before he could reply a large smooth hand landed on his shoulder.

"I heard someone wanted to meet Milo Carrion," the man, for he was definitely human, had a deep resounding voice that boom across the cacophony of noises in the pub. Liebechnekt was less than happy to acknowledge the presence of the intruder.

"This ain't none of your business what we're talking about," hissed the vampire but the man with ebony black skin was unperturbed. He leant his dreadlock covered head down so that is was on level with Tom's ear and whispered conspiringly,

"I heard you want to meet Carrion, all can be arranged…for a small fee," The white of his eyes showed clearly behind the thick dark skin, he was by no means a wayward drunk.

"I have indeed expressed an interest to see Milo Carrion but how would I know that you have the necessary contacts to help me?" asked Tom.

"I happen to be one of the members of our little party, shall we say, and Carrion is always looking for new members…or sponsors. No obligation necessary, just come along and see if it pleases you."

Tom rubbed his chin rather doubtfully but mentally he trusted this man. He was blunt and to the point, the party needed sponsors and Tom, no doubt looked like someone they could tap into.

"I suppose so but what about your…fee, as you so eloquently put it?" said Tom with a hint of sarcasm in his voice. He would not get too friendly yet; there was still room for bargain.

"A small commission really, no doubt nothing that you couldn't afford," whispered the man in an oily voice, "five galleons," Tom snorted in amusement,

"You believe that I would pay five galleons for your services. I say no more than three, one galleon now and two after I finish meeting Carrion,"

The man considered the offer shrewdly and his dreadlocks danced as he tilted his head to regard Tom from a different angle. Seemingly coming to the conclusion that three galleons was the best sum he would make that night he nodded in agreement.

"Now's if you'd like to follow me, sir, Carrion's got his own meeting hall upstairs," Tom rose from his seat and was about to follow the dark man when Liebechnekt spoke up,

"Hey, gullible, how do you know if he's not going to drag you upstairs and kill you? He'd get more than three galleons of your person that way,"

Tom gave the vampire a withering glare but he could see the ulterior motive behind the insulting words.

"I am quite capable of defending myself should the occasion call for it but you are welcome to follow if you want," stated Tom in a superior tone that left no argument as to whom was going to be in charge. The dark man shrugged nonchalantly and beckoned for them to move quickly.

Up a flight of winding stone steps with no barrister on one side that elevated them above the noise of the main pub and onto a long dark landing lit only by the moonlight filtering through a cracked pane of glass.

"Which one is it?" hissed the half vampire impatiently and shifted from one foot to the other. Apparently half vampires did not possess nocturnal vision. The tall dark man was visible as only a partial blurred silhouette against the grimy window.

"The third door on the right," he whispered, "and be sure to slip in unnoticed, Carrion is holding an important meeting," Tom felt rather than saw Liebechnekt's frown behind him as the specified door creaked open of its own accord and a rectangle of yellow light spilled onto the dark landing.

Inside was a huge hall filled with standing people all with their back turned to the door. The high vaulted ceiling was painted white and sparsely decorated only at the vertices. It was the Opus Hall where the Black Rose catered for large parties but today it seemed that the ancient charm on the room had been evoked to accommodate all the people. The audience must have apparated in, as Tom could not imagine such a crowd trudging through the main bar.

From his view point he could see other a feel untidy rows of head until his vision was blocked by what seem to be a large group of part trolls scratching their heads stupidly.

"Carrion is about to give a speech," whispered the dark man so that Tom had to strain his ears to hear the words over the excited yet hushed murmur of voices in the room. "It's an informative speech only, so it won't last long. You'll get to meet him soon." Suddenly there came a great cheer from the front of the hall and it spread like wild fire to the back where the group of part trolls ululated in approval.

"Ladies and gentlemen we are gathered here today to witness a great event, the induction of your latest supporters into the cause!" the voice was what Serge would have called "highly smug 'n' proper like". It had a clear ringing quality to it that only professional orators obtained through years of training.

"What do new members have to do?" hissed Tom to his guide while Carrion waited for the crowd to settle down again. The dark man struggled apathetically without even looking at Tom.

"The ceremonies have already been preformed so all that remains for me to propose a toast to our newest members," evidently Carrion and some others had glasses of wine at the front but Tom's view of the stage was still very much blocked by the large square heads of the part trolls.

There was raucous applause and suddenly the lines broke to reveal small square tables with what looked like party dishes spread on top of their smooth white surfaces. Evidently the audience had not been standing amongst the tables and now they moved cheerfully in groups towards the food and drink chatting in restrained tones as if it was a twisted version of a cocktail party.

Tom's view cleared as the party trolls loped off to attack what looked like the non-human sector of the party. There, a few yards after the small tables ended a long low stage crafted simply from cedar wood occupied the rest of the hall. In the centre of the stage stood five people, all of whom could still be classified as adolescents. However Tom was more interested in the figure descending the stage with a regal air.

Milo Carrion at a first glance seemed the epitome of well-bred society. Tall, handsome with some wise grey hairs adorning his temple he flashed a charming smile at a group of witches who were waving to him. He walked amongst his guests and twisted in and out of conversations very much like a certain Ignius Black. Tom saw his chance as Carrion approached the edge of the dining area. Liebenchnekt had disappeared into the throng with the guide in the hopes of snatching some free food leaving Tom standing on his own.

Appearing casual and friendly but not eager Tom made his way across the distance between them but there was not need to catch Carrion's attention as the man had already noticed him.

"Good evening, my friend," Carrion said in way of a greeting as he cross-examined Tom.

"Good evening, Milo Carrion. I am Voldemort Salamir and I congratulate you on your superb oratory,"

"I am most honoured to meet you and accept such high praises. I am so glad that you have decided to attend a meeting," said Carrion smiling as he bowed in acknowledgement. Tom nearly stiffened, how could Carrion have been expecting him? Most likely it was because he had generally made his sympathies for the preservation of blood known. He was after all a very likely candidate for Carrion to approach.

"I was very intrigued by your work, Mr Carrion. Forgive me if I abandon formalities for the moment but do tell me more about your works. I heard from certain sources that you obtained the original script of the last prophecy of the Emerald Eye,"

At this Carrion smiled in a satisfaction,

"Of course, my father had an affinity with antique collecting. He managed to procure the written record through nearly twenty years of searching. However it was not one thousand years old," Carrion paused to laugh, "that would have disintegrated by now, but my father obtained a medieval copy of the prophecy written by the famous scribe Uther Undulous. There are recorded to have been three copies of the prophecy written by Uther but I am quite certain that only one survived…the one is my possession."

"I did hear once - there is one being held at the British Scholaric Library," said Tom in calm and measured tones.

"Ah, yes that I can assure you is not the original copy from Uther Undulous. The copy currently residing at the museum is what one might call pirate version of the original made by twelfth century scholars as part of a book designed for financial gain,"

"I see, so this prophecy, it is not well known, what does it contain?" asked Tom with an air of polite curiosity.

"The prophecy was made by the Emerald Eye at the very end of his life, his last prophecy. It documented the rise of a new dark order sometime towards the end of this century. It is said in the actual manuscript that the new messiah will be born 'as the silver serpent flies once more across the night sky'. I, myself, believe that the prophecy should be taken literally. The silver serpent is most likely a comet of some sort, a comet with a regular orbit that can be seen very millennia or so," explained Milo Carrion with a little smugness.

"A comet, that is indeed a most plausible theory. However due my amateur interest in astronomy, I am reasonably informed and I have yet to come across predication of a comet," said Tom hoping to draw out more information.

Milo Carrion smiled. It was more of leer, sharp and twisted.

"The comet will come in due time, the astronomical society are not disposed to predict the path of the silver serpent."

"Yes, it is perhaps a tragedy that professions are ridden with politics," said Tom, with an air of refined apathy.

"Now that we are on the topic of politics, my dear friend, Mulciber tells me that you have expressed an interest in joining our organisation," said Carrion with a flourish, a genuine smile spread across his feature. Mulciber, Tom's dark guide seemed to appear of the crowd precisely on que and stood behind Carrion with a glass of red wine in his hand.

Tom decided he had perhaps pushed his luck enough for one night and nodded appreciatively.

"Yes, it has been my intention for some time to become a part of your organisation. To meet you was a great honour," Tom inclined his head towards Carrion. "I suppose there is a lot we need to discuss."

"Oh no, Voldemort, I trust you. We need more of your kind in this movement and formalities are not necessary. You are most welcome to join us. Of course your official induction will be later on but I cannot express my gratitude towards you," said Carrion taking Tom's hand and shaking it warmly.

"The feeling is mutual, Milo Carrion. Am I right in assuming I will be notified by post of further arrangement?"

"Of course, Voldemort, I shall look forwards to officially congratulating you on your excellent choice later on,"

Feeling that the meeting was over, Tom bowed before leaving the cramped and noisy hall. The group of half giants were chatting to someone suspiciously familiar and on further inspection the cloaked figure turned out to be Liebechnekt. Unfortunately, Liebechnekt also saw Tom and took the opportunity to slip away from his rather aggressive and much larger companions.

"Did yer find anything useful?" he asked while munching on a piece of flaking pastry. Tom absently dusted the crumbs off his shoulder.

"Perhaps, I am satisfied enough."

"Always talkin' in riddles you," grumbled the half vampire as they made their way down to the main pub.

* * *

For several months afterwards, Tom spent nearly all his spare time compiling intelligence on Carrion from his background to his current dealings. Names, locations and patterns were meticulously recorded without incurring the suspicion of anyone. 

The job really was too easy for Tom, a seasoned spy from his own school days. Carrion was mediocre to the last level, his sense of pride far out stretched his abilities as a leader and by the late summer Tom had compiled enough evidence on the Carrions' movement to incriminate over half of its members.

It was a relief, then, from hard work when Tom received a formal invitation to dine with the House of Slytherin. His first chance to truly impress his future in-laws.

* * *

AN: Please review, thxs.


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